Blackout

CHAPTER 44

Jordan James stirred and came awake slowly as the commander of the Air Force Gulfstream stood beside him.

“Mr. Secretary?”

He was a major, Jordan noted, but he looked too young to hold such a rank, let alone command an aircraft with a cabinet official aboard. Jordan sat up, momentarily puzzled at the aircraft’s lack of motion.

“The weather was substantially below minimums at Sun Valley, Sir. We’ve landed in Boise to wait it out. The weather should come up before sunrise.”

“What time is it, Major?”

“Three A.M. local, Sir. We’re perfectly snug sitting right here on the ramp, if you’d just like to snooze some more, or we can get you a room somewhere…”

“No.” Jordan shook his head. “I’ll stay aboard. I don’t want to press you, but I need to get there as quickly as possible.”

“Yes, Sir. I’ll let you know when we can leave. I suspect it won’t be long.”

Jordan thanked the pilot and swiveled around to look out the window at the private aircraft terminal next to the Gulfstream. His attention was drawn to the cold group of men huddled around the base of a large single-engine float plane, a Cessna Caravan.

Now, how can a float plane land on — oh, retractable wheels on the bottom of the floats. But where the devil are they going at this hour? Fishing trip, I suppose.

Arlin Schoen zipped up his parka against the cold and pulled himself up the short ladder from the right float into the cabin of the single-turboprop Caravan nodding to one of his men already aboard.

The man inclined his head toward one of his compatriots still on the ground and looked at Arlin. “You’re sure Jerry can handle this aircraft?”

Schoen nodded. “The Learjet was beyond his training, but this one’s easy. If we need to, we can dispose of the charter pilot.”

The insistent ringing of the satellite phone finally penetrated the dream she was having about something already forgotten, and Kat’s eyes fluttered open to the predawn darkness of the room.

The ringing had stopped. Had she dreamed it?

She moved slightly, wondering what was entangling her, and remembered with a warm rush the previous night, personified by the male whose body was molded to her backside, his arms still around her, his hands cupping her breasts. A digital clock on the bedside table read 6:25 A.M.

Kat slipped away from him slowly, hating the disconnection as she put her feet on the cold floor and padded naked to the bathroom, trying to think of priorities. She turned at the bathroom door and looked outside through the bedroom window. The snow had stopped, and a clear, star-studded sky arched overhead. She wondered if she’d missed a call from Jordan. Obviously he hadn’t made it in, but where was he?

Robert was snoring lightly. He turned onto his back, but remained asleep as she tiptoed around the far side of the bed, enjoying the rich scent of him as she leaned over to kiss his neck and wake him up.

“Wha…?” He woke with a start.

“The bundling board didn’t work,” Kat said.

“No?”

“No. I was a bad girl.”

He smiled, reaching up to touch her face. “The heck you were.”

“But we have to get professional now and get dressed,” she said, whipping the covers off of him with one sudden motion.

“Hey! Has anyone called?”

“No, but it’s inevitable, and I want us to be ready.”

Less than 200 yards away, in the back of a rented utility vehicle, a lone figure raised himself cautiously above the window line and examined the images in his night vision binoculars. A light had gone on in the bedroom of the cabin, and now one in the kitchen, and the figure in the SUV turned to his companion huddled in a parka on the floor. “You’d better get your ears on.”

The other man groaned and forced himself to sit up and put on a headset, positioning a handheld electronic dish, which he aimed at the cabin’s front windows. A tiny beam of invisible laser light shot out to touch the distant window. The host unit recorded the precise distance of the unit to the window and measured every minute variation of that distance as the windowpane vibrated to the sounds from inside. An embedded computer translated the results and fed an audio signal to the headset.

“What are they saying?” the man with the binoculars asked.

“They’re talking about eggs and bacon and where everyone is.”

“Who, for instance?”

“Us. And someone else.”

“Dr. Maverick, I presume.”

The man shook his head and hunched over, waving the first man to silence as he held one of the earphones close and closed his eyes to concentrate, then sat up, muttering under his breath. “Good grief! Schoen is gonna have a cow!” The man looked over at his partner. “Guess who’s coming to breakfast?”

“Who?” his companion snapped. “Who?”

“Only the Secretary of State.”

The headlights of a car appeared at the end of the road behind them and both men ducked out of sight until it passed. The pickup camper was plowing its way slowly down the snow-covered lane, the driver a dark shape in the left front seat. As the men in the SUV watched, it seemed to slow in front of the Maverick cabin, then accelerate again, turning out of sight at the far end of the road to disappear.

For a split second, Kat thought she heard the click of something metallic somewhere in the cabin, but she could see nothing amiss. She looked at Robert across the tiny kitchen table and shrugged.

“What?” he said.

“Not important,” she answered. “I thought I heard—”

The sudden noise of the back door slamming open in their faces caught them both unprepared as a stoutly clothed figure burst into the room with a gun in his hand.

“FREEZE!” The voice was male, deep and menacing, but shaking as well.

Kat and Robert sprang to their feet simultaneously, hands in the air, as the figure slammed the door closed behind him and moved to one side of the kitchen, his eyes wide, his gun hand literally shaking.

“Who the hell are you?” he demanded.

Kat looked at him carefully. “Dr. Maverick?”

“Who wants to know?” he snapped.

“Agent Kat Bronsky of the FBI. If you’ll let me, I’ll get my ID.”

The man said nothing as he studied her, then glanced at Robert. “Who’s he?”

“I’m Robert MacCabe, a reporter for The Washington Post and a survivor of the plane crash in Vietnam several days ago.”

Dr. Thomas Maverick shuffled sideways toward the living room door and glanced in before waving the gun at Kat. “Where’s your ID?”

“In the… in your bedroom, Sir.”

“Get it,” he ordered. She complied quickly, and he studied the badge and laminated card. He tossed it on the kitchen table, still fingering the gun, his eyes darting wildly between the two of them and the front door.

“Okay. I guess I believe you. The Washington Post thing is too bizarre to be made up.” He motioned them back to the chairs.

“Dr. Maverick, would you please stop waving the gun at us?” Kat asked.

He glanced at the .38 in his hand and nodded, then turned and pulled up another chair. “I’m sorry. I saw you in my house, and… didn’t know who you were.”

“Doctor,” Kat said, softening her voice. “You seem spooked. Is someone chasing you?”

He ignored the question. “Tell me why you’re in my house, please.”

“Did you know Walter Carnegie?” Kat asked, and noticed the instant reaction of fear ripple across the man’s face.

“Why?”

“Because he told us to find you.”

“Walter is dead,” Dr. Maverick said simply.

“We know,” Robert said. “He was my friend.”

Thomas Maverick sighed and shook his head.

“We need,” Kat interjected, “we need to start at the beginning. We have a lot to tell you, but I suspect you have even more to tell us.”

“We need to get out of here. We can talk for a few minutes, but then we’ve got to go. It’s not safe.”

The blue and white Air Force Gulfstream taxied clear of the runway and moved gingerly over the snow-packed surface toward the small commercial terminal, where a car waited in the dark, its exhaust curling around the rear and wafting through the gentle snowfall in the snowy scene.

Jordan James gathered his briefcase and overnight bag and wondered if he should order the crew to stay. There was an Air National Guard facility at Boise, and they were going to wait there, a plan Jordan decided was sufficient. Even if he found Kat immediately, it would be a few hours before they were ready.

When the engines were stopped and the forward stairs lowered, one of the crew raced off to verify that the driver was the one retained to take their VIP wherever he needed to go. He returned to the airplane to help the Secretary off.

“Sir, the major says to just call that cell phone number and we’ll be here within two hours. We’ll be waiting in Boise.”

“Understood. See you shortly.”

The crewman saluted smartly and raced back into the Gulfstream, raising the stairs as the pilots started the engines.

“Where to, Sir?” the driver asked.

“Hang on a second,” Jordan replied. “I have to call and find out.” He pulled out the slip of paper with the number of Kat’s satellite phone and punched it in, relieved when she answered on the first ring.

As they left the airport road, the Gulfstream roared overhead and turned to the west, its lights marking its progress as it sped away, soaring over the beacon of an inbound aircraft maneuvering for landing.

The Cessna Caravan slowed as the pilot turned on final approach and lowered the small landing wheels beneath the twin floats.